Neighborly Advice
by Laura Schiller
Summary: What convinced Natalie to write David that Christmas card even after he had "redistributed" her? Maybe a fellow Harris Street woman with more than her share of experience with powerful men. Mia & Natalie, David/Natalie, one-sided Mia/Harry.


Neighborly Advice

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Love Actually_

Copyright: Richard Curtis

The so-called "dodgy end" of Harris Street boasted few advantages, but at least someone had had the forethought to build a chip shop opposite the pub. On nights like these, when one cocktail became two, then three, then four, it became very important to eat something salty and starchy before going to sleep in order to be fit for work (well, more or less) the next morning.

Mia and Natalie smiled tiredly at each other over a basket of chips soaked in mayonnaise. Each woman thought sympathetically that the other looked awful, sitting in harsh fluorescent light and leaning against mustard-yellow polyester seats. Their makeup was wearing off, their black hair disheveled. Natalie wore jeans and her oldest, baggiest cardigan, and even Mia, who never went outside looking less than perfect, had a run in her pantyhose and a mayonnaise stain on the ruffled collar of her blouse.

"I hate men," said Natalie, for about the dozenth time that evening. She was starting to drop her h's, as she often did when drunk; all her hard-won training in elocution and etiquette tended to desert her in times of stress. "Fucking hate them."

"I know, sweetie," said Mia. "Me too."

She knew it was unfair, but she couldn't help it. Ever since Harry had given her the golden heart necklace, something inside him seemed to have snapped. Now he looked at her with the same level of loathing he usually reserved for tax forms and charity fundraisers. He'd given her two weeks' notice, written her a suspiciously glowing reference, and avoided her like the proverbial plague. She knew it had been wrong of her to flirt with her married boss, but it took two to tango and he'd definitely been dancing with her. A bit late for him to grow a conscience, although it could have been worse. At least they hadn't slept together.

"Even David. _Especially_ David."

There, Mia was inclined to disagree.

"There's a lot worse he could've done, you know. All he did was transfer you to another office."

"How can you say that? You _know_ how hard I worked to get this job!" Natalie banged her flat palm on the table, causing the paper napkins to flutter up like birds. "With Downing Street on my resume, I could've gone anywhere! Now he fucking sends me away after just two fucking weeks, and that snobby cow of a Chief of Staff wouldn't even tell me _why!_ If it's about the President, that bloody well wasn't my fault. But I can't even fucking tell her!"

"She didn't need to tell you. _I_ know why, and you too if you think about it."

Natalie snorted and waved her hand; they'd already had this argument several times. She refused to hear a word said against the Prime Minister, no matter how much she claimed to hate him. But Mia was persistent. The idiocy of her fellow women when it came to men never ceased to astonish her (although when she thought of Harry's scornful eyes, she really had no right to judge). Someone had to save poor Natalie from herself.

"He fancies you, Nat. It's obvious. Everything you told me makes it obvious. The way he kept you talking about your life - "

"He's a Labour man." Natalie's face turned bright pink. "It's one of his political principles to treat workers with respect."

"There's nothing political about offering to have Brad murdered for you, even if it was just a joke."

Brad was Natalie's ex-boyfriend and the blight of her existence. The amount of times Mia had sat with her in this same chip shop, assuring Natalie that she wasn't fat, listening to her tearful justifications that he was a nice guy really, then cursing his name after the breakup, were too many to count. Mia had a secret sympathy with the Prime Minister's dark joke; she had often thought herself that the world would be a better place without Brad in it.

Natalie ate a fistful of chips, blushing even redder. " _He_ doesn't think I'm fat," she mumbled with her mouth full. "He looked so surprised when I told him what Brad used to say. Like he never even noticed."

"Of course not. You've been listening to your parents and Brad too long. No sane person would ever call you fat."

Natalie ignored the implied slur on her parents' sanity and gave her friend and neighbour a grateful smile.

"Now listen," said Mia, picking up a long and crispy chip to point for emphasis, and lowering her voice to make sure no one could overhear them. "If there's anyone in this mess who deserves hate, it's not your David. It's the President."

Natalie froze in mid-bite. All the color drained from her face.

"I understand why you didn't report it," said Mia, reaching across the sticky table to squeeze Natalie's hand. "No one ever believes us, do they? Even if they do, they don't take it seriously."

Harry, though a decent boss in many ways, was still a typical male in that respect. He might warn his female staff members to avoid their colleague Kevin at the Christmas party _"if they want their breasts unfondled_ ", but it never occurred to him that sacking Kevin would easily solve the problem.

"David's not like that," said Natalie, but the knowledge did not seem to comfort her. "You heard his speech at the press conference, right? That was … that was on my account. He couldn't risk calling the President out directly, but he defended me the only way he could."

"With a speech about David Beckham's right foot?" Mia swallowed a sardonic laugh along with her chip. "Oh well, I guess it had the right effect. The Yank was definitely pissed."

"Fuck him," said Natalie, through gritted teeth. She had been dropping F-bombs all evening, but she invested this one with such concentrated vitriol that Mia was surprised the plastic place mat didn't melt into a puddle.

"That's right, fuck him! No, better than that, let him go fuck himself!" Mia punched the air with her fist. She hadn't drunk as much as Natalie, but it seemed to be affecting her more than she realized. They were wandering off topic. What had they been talking about again? Oh. Right.

"See, Nattie, _this_ is why your David sent you away. So he wouldn't be tempted to catch you alone in any empty conference rooms, like that other politician we won't mention. He was being a gentleman. Also an idiot. Same thing."

Natalie's big brown eyes flew open with shock, as if the idea were completely new to her. Instead of looking horrified, though, all her color came back to her, until she positively glowed.

"But, Mia … " she said, cupping her hand next to her mouth and speaking in the loudest whisper Mia had ever heard. " _What if I really, really want him to catch me?_ "

 _Then you're beyond help,_ was Mia's first thought. The Prime Minister of England and his tea-and-biscuit girl? There were so many ways that could go wrong. The Conservatives would pounce on the story like a pack of wolves, and so would the media. Natalie, with her potty mouth and her incorrigible honesty, was a tabloid reporter's dream come true. Was she strong enough to handle that? Was he?

On the other hand, this wasn't exactly a case of Clinton and Lewinsky. The Prime Minister was single, for one thing. And from the way Natalie talked about him, he had never treated her with anything but kindness and respect. Mia herself was jealous when she remembered seeing clips of that press conference on the news. If the Great Britain he'd defended so warmly was just one British citizen, then it was no wonder that citizen's heart, as well as her vote, belonged to him.

Good men were rare enough in this world. Mia could kick herself for the way she'd behaved to Harry. Falling for a man because he was a good boss and a loving husband was one thing, but trying to make him hers was quite another. All she'd done was cause trouble in his workplace and his marriage, ruining the same qualities she'd admired so much.

She thought of Harry and Sarah, playfully swatting each other with rolled-up magazines as he gave her advice about her love life. Mia never saw that side of him anymore. She had lost that privilege. Serve her right, but she still missed it.

Yes, good men were rare, and so were good neighbors. Rare enough that they should be treasured when you found them.

"For God's sake," said Mia, with an earnestness that startled them both, "Tell him how you feel. You might regret it if you do, but you'll definitely regret it if you don't. Men are like children, they need everything spelled out. Just tell him!"

It was snowing outside, a fresh white snow that covered all the slushy tracks of the day's traffic. Car headlights flashed across the road. A string of fairy lights twinkled along the chip shop counter. Natalie's eyes outshone them all.

"I don't have direct access anymore," she said. "But I can always write to him … if you think it's a good idea."

"When have I ever had a bad idea?" Mia smirked. "Don't you dare answer that."

They burst out giggling over their basket of chips and, by unspoken agreement, pulled on their coats. Natalie dropped a crumpled bank note on the table ("You just got sacked and I work for the fucking government, buying dinner's the least I can do") and Mia slung an arm over her friend's shoulders to keep her upright. A snowy wind hit them squarely in their faces as they stumbled out into the street, Natalie analyzing Christmas card motifs at the top of her voice and trying to decide which one would be "romantic but not too romantic", and Mia simply shook her head and smiled.

She had no job, no man, no family – none of the things that mattered for a traditional Christmas.

But with a friend like this one, she would never be alone.


End file.
